


Crazy Bitches

by werpiper



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Dogs, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Revenge, actions have consequences, body modesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werpiper/pseuds/werpiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artemis and Actaeon; a retelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Bitches

Leon was going too fast, but he had to get away from the crazy bitch. Lorraine had seemed like a good thing for awhile, but he was over it now. The last thing she'd said was "I don't want you to leave," and he'd answered, "I don't care" and slammed the door. No more of her whining, no more of her stomach aches, no more of her goading him until he had to slap her. He was done. It felt great to be alone in the dark with the motorcycle's roar and the wind pulling back his hair.

There was a dull thud and a sharp yelp, then the sinuous rush of tires slewing sideways and the handlebars twisting like a snake. Leon saw the moon between his feet, the red of his own taillights, then the black of the road as he went down. He landed mostly on his side, yelping back as the breath slammed out of him. Then he was gasping. The other voice whimpered, like a conversation.

After awhile Leon sat upright and decided he was okay. He stood and managed to pick up his bike, too. The night was silent except for crickets and katydids, and moths swarmed around his headlight. But Leon got down again, on hands and knees, and scrabbled around in the ditch at the side of the road. His hip hurt, and he wouldn't have done it for long. Soon though he touched something warm and silky -- a dog's soft ear. "Hey there," Leon whispered, and it licked his fingers.

He felt a worrying wetness, stickier than spit, back along the dog's left flank. Leon rose and took the dog with him, and it whimpered again as he tucked It inside his jacket. Leon's jacket was too big, but the dog made a tight fit, and he could only zip up halfway. "Hang in there, bud," he said, "I'll get you somewhere safe."

He drove, very slowly and carefully, over to Missy Greek's house at the south end of town. Like everybody else, Leon knew Missy's place because of the dogs. She always had three or nine or twelve of them, behind a chainlink fence. They were a motley and changing collection, mangey or bandaged or skinny bitches with a litter at the teat. Every couple months a truck came through and took them, and a couple days later she'd start her collecting again. Her house was dark, but dogs barked in the yard as he pulled over, and the porch light flicked on as he went up the stairs.

Missy was a skinny bitch herself, short, wearing pink sweats frayed at the collar and cuffs. She blinked up at Leon in the doorway, then at the wounded dog he carried. "Oh," she said, then "okay", and she flipped on the hallway light and took the animal from him. Leon followed her into the parlor, where she set the dog on a table and flipped on a light. He stood awkwardly as she put on latex gloves, checked the animal over, shone a penlight in its eyes. "She's concussed," said Missy finally, "but the wound's not serious," and she set to cleaning it with a disposable wipe.

Meanwhile Leon had noticed that he was bleeding too. The side of one hand was badly scraped and stung, and he could taste something metallic around a loose tooth in his jaw. He watched Missy work, and finally asked, "Any chance you might have one of those cleaning things to spare?"

She looked up. Leon couldn't say if she met his eye; her glasses were very thick. "There's some in the bathroom," she said, jerking her head to point down the hall. "Antibacterials, soap, and tweezers too," she added, then finally, "You need a ride to the emergency room?"

Leon shook his head. He went into the bathroom and washed his hands, letting the water flow until it ran clean. He spat out a little blood, then rinsed his mouth too. Looking in the mirror, he guessed he'd have a black eye in the morning, but on the whole it wasn't too bad. Lorraine probably looked worse off, which made him chuckle a little.

Back down the hall, Missy had bandaged a bag of frozen peas to the dog's head, folded her in a blanket, and tucked her up at one end of a couch. Missy herself leaned against the armrest on the other side. "That dog going to be all right?" Leon asked.

Missy smiled. "She'll be fine," she said. One of her bare feet rested against the dog's side, and one paw curled back around her ankle. "I'll sit up with her awhile. If I'm wrong, there's always the vet."

"Aren't you a vet?" Leon had never heard that Missy was, exactly, but it seemed a polite way to inquire.

She shook her head. "I'm a dental technician." Very briefly, she smiled. "But, well. Dogs."

"All right," said Leon. Missy nodded. She didn't offer him a seat, and the metallic taste in his mouth was spreading into a full-blown headache. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. Missy nodded again, and Leon showed himself out and went home.

The next few days were all right. He ignored Lorraine's phone calls, watched a lot of television, and had himself some peace. Then one evening he felt a little lonely after work, and on a whim, he drove his beverage delivery truck down to Missy's.

There were four dogs in the yard, but he recognized the one he'd hit by the scrape on her hip. She was orange-and-black in staticky stripes, with a broad forehead and enormous paws. "Hey girl," he said, crouching down beside the chainlink. "How you doing?" The dogs crowded around him, not barking at all now. He stuck his fingers through the fence, and first a big brown-and-black dog sniffed him, and then his little orange girl pushed in. She licked his palm and Leon laughed. "Hey girl," he repeated. "Hey."

He'd been there for awhile when a car drove up, a big Japanese station wagon. Missy got out, wearing green slacks and a tan blouse, carrying a couple of cotton tote bags. "Hi there," she said. "She's doing great. Still walking a little sore, but I think she'll be fine as soon as the skin's healed over." She climbed the front steps, set down the bags to open the door. Leon came after her, scooped up the bags -- groceries and dog food, lots of cans -- and carried them inside. Missy raised an eyebrow. She wasn't bad-looking -- warm brown eyes behind the thick glasses, heavy brown hair around her shoulders. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," said Leon, and then as Missy watched him he added, "Well. I was wondering," though he hadn't been until just now, "if maybe I could take that dog home?"

Missy frowned, then seemed to deliberately clear her face. "You keep dogs?" she asked, voice neutral.

"Not since I was a kid," he answered honestly. "But I'd like to. I'd take good care of her, make sure she got her rabies shot and all." He tried desperately to remember what having a dog involved. All he really remembered was Luke, his mother's old yellow dog, sleeping on the end of her bed. When he'd had a bad day at school he'd come home and curl up with him and watch cartoons. He really wanted to have this dog, now.

"It'll be another week," said Missy. "She still needs her spay. And I don't think she's housebroken; she's probably only six or seven months old. You planning to keep her indoors?"

"Of course," Leon answered. "She'll sleep on my bed. A week's good. I'll look up how to housebreak her on the Internet."

Missy smiled. She had a good smile, not just on her face but in her whole body, shoulders relaxing in her blouse and fingers spreading wide. "You can come back in a week, then," she told Leon. "Her name's Cecilia."

"I'm going to call her Tiger," said Leon. Missy's smile vanished, but after a moment she nodded.

"All right. You call up the vet -- it's Winthrop here in town -- and give them your name and a credit card. I get a discount so her bill should be a hundred and sixty with the spay and checkup and her vaccines. If anything else comes up don't worry, you won't be responsible and you can reconsider your adoption depending."

A hundred and sixty dollars? When he could pick up a dog just about anywhere for free? Missy was a crazy bitch after all. Leon opened his mouth to tell her no way, but a dog padded in before he got the words out, and Missy was smiling again. She got down on her knees in her green slacks, murmuring, "Hey Jaxon, sweetheart, how are you doing?"

Jaxon was a big dog, black except for grey around the muzzle that he pressed to Missy's cheek. Her arms went around his neck, and her smile then was truly sweet. "There's a good dog," Leon said. He sounded inane to himself, but Missy turned her smile up at him.

"He really is," she said as Jaxon pushed his nose into her neck. "All right. Give Doctor Winthrop your phone number, and he'll call you too when Ceci -- when your dog gets out of surgery, okay?"

So Leon was lost. He wrote down his contact information, and Missy gave him a card with her phone number and web site and a cartoon dog in a heart. Four days later he was out a hundred and sixty bucks, and eight days later he brought the puppy home.

She really was a pleasure to have around, after a miserable week figuring out housebreaking and installing a dog door at the back porch. Tiger barked and danced when Leon got home from work and cuddled on the couch while he watched TV. She chewed up a pair of shoes that Lorraine had left behind in Leon's house, and he cracked up laughing. She made friends with the other dogs in the neighborhood -- seemed to be a bit of a leader, even. Leon watched her break up a fight between two bigger dogs once, just by wading in between the combatants, who respectfully backed away. She stayed short, and never did seem to grow into her paws. But she had a broad skull between round, yellow-green eyes, strong jaws and bowed front legs. Leon told his friends she was a pit bull (he was guessing, or bluffing), and he was happier at home than he'd been in a long time.

A man still gets lonely with only a dog and some friends for company, though. One evening after Leon had delivered a truckload of beverages to a bar on his route, he decided he'd stop in for a drink and maybe some socializing. The Swizzle's owner had a particular fondness for rums, which weren't actually popular in the area, so the place was pretty quiet. Leon let the guy make him a Dark and Stormy and took a seat at the bar, sizing up his fellow customers. Down at the other end, with a pink cocktail and her nose in her phone, sat Missy.

Leon took his drink over. "Well hi there, Missy," he said, "How are you doing tonight?"

She looked up and her eyes were red-rimmed, and he was immediately sorry he'd asked. But she smiled, broad and bright against her wet cheeks, and said "Great! I sent eight dogs away to their forever homes. The driver just messaged me from the road, the dogs are out with some angels for a walk break. Want to see?"

Leon was confused, but he sat down and nodded. Apparently the guy with the truck had come through, and "angels" were people who stopped to let the dogs out on the long ride north. There were dozens of them, far more than Missy could have supplied. The camera went from dog to dog, and each was introduced by a person holding their leash. Sebastian had an endlessly waving plumy tail, Happy was snuggling into his angel's neck, Bonnie and Clyde were hopelessly tangled as they chased each other around their handler. "Oh, there's Dori!" said Missy in a reverent half-whisper. Silver-grey and built like a long-haired Mastiff, Dori sat with one paw on his angel's lap and regarded the photographer with dignity. Leon glanced at Missy's face. "That's a very handsome dog," he said, trying to be diplomatic.

Missy looked up, smile as bright and open as a dog's despite fresh tears. "He's great," she said. "Neglected. He lived on a chain in somebody's back yard for I don't know how many years. Now he should get the love he deserves, though." She wiped her face with the back of one hand. "I'm going to miss him, though."

Leon's heart went out to her, all at once. "It's tough to be lonely," he said, trying to speak for them both. Impulsively, he lowered his voice. "I'd like to keep you company sometimes."

Missy didn't look flirty, but she didn't seem angry either. "Company's good," she said, then added in a flat rush, "I got to tell you, though. I don't like romance and I don't want sex. I've seen a doctor about it and it's normal, there's nothing wrong with me. And I do enjoy a drink with a person I like. But just so you know, I am never going to want any dates."

"Of course, that's fine," said Leon. He felt his face turning red, and took a long slug of the Dark and Stormy. "Are you really sure that's healthy, though?" He'd heard that all women were basically bisexual, and that made sense. Missy didn't seem to make sense at all.

She smiled a little. "Yep, I'm sure," she said. "I told my dad and he said he's the same way. He got married because he wanted children, and I know he adored my mom. Eventually they did get divorced. I don't want kids -- I like dogs better -- so I don't even have a reason to start."

"Well all right then." Leon tried to play cool. "Show me more of the dogs?"

Her smile went warm again. They spent over an hour with their drinks -- Missy liked gin and tonic -- and Missy's phone, which contained literally hundreds of pictures of dogs. There were people too, and flowers and architecture, but she concentrated on the dogs and their stories. Leon got interested despite himself, and then pulled out his own phone to show her pictures of Tiger. Tiger flopped on the doormat, Tiger running with the neighbor's hunting dogs, Tiger shaking a dead mouse (he almost skipped that one, but Missy laughed aloud and said she was proud). "These are wonderful," she said, when Leon's show had come to an end. Her face was clear. "I'm so glad you got her," she said, and her voice was as bright as love.

Missy got up to leave after that, and Leon didn't quite have the balls to follow her. He ended up chatting with a taller, older woman, and they made out in the parking lot, but she wouldn't go home with him or take him to hers either. She did jerk him off, eventually, so he left feeling pretty fine. She gave him her name and number, and he put them in his phone and promptly forgot all about her.

It was a few months later, very late at night, when Leon saw Missy again. Actually he recognized the Japanese station wagon, blinkers on, pulled over into a ditch on a cold, rainy night. He grabbed the delivery truck's flashlight and shone it around. "Hey, Missy?" he called.

"Who's that?" she called back, and he headed towards her voice. There was a dog in the ditch, sprawled on its side, and the air was heavy with the scents of wet dog and blood. Missy herself was covered in blood and mud and ditchwater. She'd affixed a towel over the dog's head, and appeared to be trying to pull the animal onto another, larger towel. That dog probably weighed more than she did, and even through the towel he could hear it whining interspersed with growls. Leon didn't ask, just went down to help. The muddy water swirled up to his knees. But with two of them, they had the dog on the stretcher -- it was canvas, not a towel, after all -- in less than five minutes, and gently placed in the back of Missy's station wagon. When they shut the tailgate, the dog's noises had died down to a deep, irregular panting.

"I'll follow you, help you get him inside?" Leon intended that as a gallant declaration, but his voice went up at the end. Missy nodded gratefully, though, and went around to drive. Leon followed, glad he had the beverage truck that night and not his motorcycle. At Missy's house, two dogs wandered from a doghouse to the chainlink fence to greet them, and Jaxon was waiting behind the door. They wrestled the huge dog on the stretcher onto a table, and Missy washed her hands quickly and put on gloves. Leon hovered, watching.

 

She gave the animal an injection before she removed the cover from its head. The dog's eyes were dull, and it was still panting. She stood a moment, tracing the great jaw, gently touching the great, matted ruff of fur around its head and neck. "You'll be all right, Trace," she said firmly. "You're mine and I'm going to look after you." Then she was all work, probing gently, snipping some of the worst mats off with scissors, cleansing blood away with sterile cloths and soap. "You've got some broken ribs there, bud," she said. "And your insides took a beating. You stay with me, I'll help you all I can."  
There didn't seem to be much more for Leon to do. But when the dog -- Trace -- rolled cautiously up to his chest, Missy disappeared into her kitchen for a few minutes. Leon and Trace eyed each other, not entirely trustingly. Missy came back with a bowl of some kind of gloppy dog food in a bowl and a sturdy spoon. She got Trace to lick up a few bites, and then Leon said, "I could do that. You want to go clean up?"

Missy looked down at herself, as if she hadn't given it a thought. She had taken off her gloves, but her blouse and slacks -- possibly once pink and brown -- were heavily streaked with blood and mud, and so soaked through that Leon could see the strap of her bra showing through. She gave him a grateful look. "Sure," she said. "Just give him what he wants, don't force him. I'll just be a couple minutes. Thank you."

Leon nodded, and a few minutes later he heard a shower running. He was alone in the room with the dogs, Trace slowly licking up his food, and Jaxon watching attentively from the couch. Trace got a few more swallows down, then sighed and lay down flat. Jaxon stepped slowly to the ground, and Leon let him lick the last bits from the bowl, as Jaxon seemed to think was his right. Meanwhile Leon was thinking about Missy, her heavy hair, her changeable smile, her bra strap through the wet shirt. His thoughts became more explicit, and he headed for the bathroom door.  
He opened it without knocking, and Missy immediately stuck her head out from behind the shower curtain. "What is it?" she asked urgently. "Is Trace all right?"

"He's fine," said Leon reassuringly. He wished Missy would lean out a little further, and took a step towards her himself. "I just wanted to check up on you."

Missy pulled her head back behind the plastic. "I'm fine," she said. "Get out."

Leon took another step in instead. Missy's voice echoed loud in the tiled room: "Begone and gone!" Leon startled, and he heard a noise like thunder. Jaxon had come to stand by the bathroom door. His ears were pricked, his front half crouching low over his paws, and his teeth bared in a snarl. Leon would have liked to move away, but that would have brought him closer to Missy's shower, and he was acutely aware that he should not go there. He turned instead and smacked the old dog as hard as he could on his old gray muzzle. Jaxon keened in pain. On the table, Trace was struggling as if to stand up. His eyes were wild, and his ruff seemed as wide and heavy as a lion's, and Leon ran for the door.

He ran straight by his truck, far too fast, in a panic. Soon he was halfway home, shivering cold and wet, still halfway running. His feet sounded ticky and strange on the wet pavement. Sure, he'd been rude. He'd heard before that dogs could be incredibly sensitive to their owners' moods, and no doubt Missy really was a crazy bitch and the dogs around her just responding to her craziness themselves. Dogs were loyal. Maybe even Trace -- how did Missy think of those names? -- was loyal to her already somehow. He'd have to go back and get the truck before work, but he'd never even talk to the crazy bitch again.

Tiger was on the doorstep, as always, and Leon's heart brightened as always to see her. He tried to call out, but his voice didn't seem to be working right. She stood up quickly, her hackles raised, and her tail stiffened. The neighbor's hunting dogs were with her, and they set up baying as they charged in a mass down the steps. Leon's heart leapt into his throat. Terror and outrage and betrayal mixed with helpless love and even admiration, for his dog's wide bright eyes, her shining striped coat, and -- at the last moment -- her heavy, powerful jaws.


End file.
